by Mark Lingane
He was led to a small concrete bunker that contained a table with a knife lying on it, and a man sitting on a chair with a bag over his head. A door on the other side of the room opened and Tackle Jeffry Rice entered. He looked very angry. Sebastian wiped the sleep from his eyes.
The tackle strode over to the table, picked up the gnarled and evil blade, and thrust it into Sebastian’s hand.
“Is this a dagger I see before me?” Sebastian said, holding it awkwardly.
“This man is a Charger,” Jeffry told Sebastian, indicating the hooded man. “He was found infiltrating our farmlands, killing families, killing children. He’s evil and he’ll be executed tomorrow. If you’re not a Charger, if you’re an enemy of the Chargers, then slit his throat.”
“Whoa, wait a minute,” Sebastian said. “Just because I’m an enemy of the Chargers it doesn’t mean I want to kill them all given half a chance. They’re just people like you and me.”
“They’re not people, they’re vermin who want nothing more than to see the Forty-ninth destroyed.”
“I think you have a very one-eyed view of the world. Have you ever actually gotten to know a Charger? They’re exactly the same as you.”
“You admit you’ve been with them.”
“Of course, how do you think the Chargers came to hate us?” Sebastian stopped. “That didn’t come out right.”
Jeffry looked him in the eye. “So, you won’t kill him?”
“No.” Sebastian passed back the knife.
“Good. I’m glad. He’s one of ours.”
“What?”
“For some reason,” Jeffry said, “as soon as we get a Charger into a cell, they kill themselves. We don’t even get a chance to interrogate them. They’re driven by an insanity I can’t understand. So you’re not one of the crazy Chargers we’ve come across in the past. This simple test proves it.”
“The Chargers get some pretty strong messages about you guys as well,” Sebastian said. “They say you do terrible things to them if you catch them.”
“Why do they say that? There’s a treaty. The rules say that if we catch them, we have to keep them safe.”
“The Chargers believe, one hundred percent, that the Forty-ninth are all monsters,” Sebastian said. “I’ve seen it in their eyes and in the pictures on their walls.”
“I know we’re at war,” Jeffry said, “but there are limits.”
Sebastian shook his head. “War is war. It always defies common sense.”
14
Q-BACKER ALAN Finchley of the 49th Division paced the office with his hands clasped behind his back. The sun was setting in the west. He paused and watched the fiery colors dance across the sky as the sun sank toward the gleaming horizon. His steel-gray eyes were mesmerized by this show of the only beauty in his life. In his fading years, the weight of war was becoming too heavy.
There was a knock at the door.
“Enter,” Alan said.
“Sir.” Center Brad Williams saluted. “Reporting for the evening debrief.”
“Any more information about yesterday’s loss in Los Angeles?”
“No, sir. Engineers have been crawling over the area, but there’s no evidence in the wreckage to explain why the chopper failed.”
“Keep surveillance runs to ground missions only for the time being, and at a minimum. I want the aerial fleet grounded until we work out if this was a technical failure or some new weapon.”
The center nodded.
“Have a seat, Brad.” The q-backer indicated the chair opposite his desk.
Brad nodded and sat. He took off his helmet and fiddled absentmindedly with the strap.
“Center, I’m worried that this is something new,” Alan said. “Times are changing and the wind blows foul. We’ve heard rumors about a new weapon being developed in the east. Could this be it?”
“I don’t want to add to the melodrama, sir, but times are always uncertain in war, as is information. And now we …”
Alan sat down behind the large oak desk. “You what? You have something new to tell me?”
“It’s nothing. We’ve captured two Charger spies, and they haven’t instantly killed themselves.”
“Spies?”
“Yes, we caught a young man and woman who appeared to be running from a Charger unit. They were being pinned down by a tank.”
“They were being chased by the enemy, but you suspect them of being spies?” The q-backer raised an eyebrow.
“We’re dealing with a crafty adversary, always trying to trick us one way or another.”
“What evidence have you got so far?”
Brad paused before answering. “One of them, the female, had outlaw weaponry.”
“Such things are not hard to come by beyond our city walls.”
“It wasn’t abandoned. She didn’t get it by luck, but by stealing it. So, one of them, at least, has been among the outlaws.”
“I’ll defer to your expertise on outlaw lore, Brad.” Alan turned around to stare at the setting sun. “Although your brother Dylan would’ve known better. His understanding of the outlaws was second to none.”
And where did it get him? The words roared around in Brad’s mind. The q-backer was unrelenting in his deference of Brad’s brother. In every subject, every day, the q-backer always gave a nod or a hint to Dylan.
“Do you have any other information?” the q-backer asked.
“They plead that they’re not spies, but you know how the enemy works, and the deception they’ll stoop to.”
“Are you overthinking the situation, Brad? Sometimes, especially in war, things are what they are. There’s often not enough time for them to be anything else. How did this pair outrun a tank?”
“They had a vehicle, some kind of bike. I haven’t seen anything like it. It doesn’t use fuel.”
The q-backer smiled. “Vehicles that operate without fuel—now that would turn a war over fuel on its head. Do you really think it would be a smart move by the enemy to surrender such a vehicle?”
Brad sighed and stared at his boots. “I admit they don’t act like spies. But it just feels wrong. Jeffry’s dealing with them at the moment.”
“Maybe I should see these spies.”
“Sir, with all due respect, I see that as a potentially hazardous idea. What if this is an assassination attempt? Putting you in danger is a—”
The q-backer cut him off. “Bring them. I doubt they’ll be able to do anything that hasn’t already been tried. Your brother wouldn’t have hesitated.”
Your brother. Brad Williams felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck.
15
THE ANCIENT MOTORS groaned as the Peacemaker descended in the small metal elevator. The smell of rotting vegetation from the expansive mold covering the walls was overpowering. The small lights flickered, leaving him in occasional and claustrophobic darkness. The age of the machinery meant movement was slow and often fraught with danger of mechanical failure.
Eventually, the elevator shuddered to a halt and the doors creaked open. The light spilled into a pitch-black chamber. The floor crawled, alive with the insectoid survivors of the nuclear war. The wheelchair rolled out into the chamber, crunching as it progressed. The doors closed, and he was left in total darkness. The only thing visible was the dim light of the call button next to the elevator door.
A few moments ticked by. He sensed he wasn’t alone, and turned on the small light in the arm of his chair. It glowed upward, illuminating his face from below.
“We shall start,” he said. “My time is short.”
In the darkness, a throat cleared. The voice took several attempts to speak before the low rumbling morphed into a recognizable sentence. “What do you want?”
“I need you to send a reminder,” the Peacemaker said.
“Of what?” The voice stuttered into a fit of coughing.
“Of why I’m needed.”
The vague outline of the shadow moved. The Peacemaker’s eyes worked hard to
capture the elusive shape as it darted from side to side. It was unusual behavior.
“Same people as last time?” the voice said.
“No. The others.”
“Understood.”
A large hand shot into the small circle of light. Its appearance shocked the Peacemaker. These people had tough lives, he knew that, but the limb looked horrifically diseased. The wrist was wrapped in heavy bandaging, filthy and ragged. The hand was covered in slashes weeping a thick, almost green, blood. The fingers were unnaturally long, and dirty to the level of concealing the person’s color. Lumps covered the skin.
The Peacemaker produced several small plastic cards, displaying them in the low light before wrapping them in a piece of cloth. He placed the package in the outstretched palm, carefully avoiding physical contact with the deformed lump.
“What’s wrong with your hand?”
The hand clutched into a fist, folding around the contents and whipping them away at lightning speed. There was a pause from the darkness. “A change is coming. A wave is rolling up from the south.”
“Another one? How dull. I’ll ride it like always,” the Peacemaker replied.
There was a low chuckle followed by a clicking sound that could be created by a tongue too big for its mouth. “Things are going to change around here. It’s time for a new age.”
The Peacemaker scoffed at the statement, but there was no response. He was alone. At the back of his mind was a concern that the contact had sounded different this time. Something was wrong; something had changed.
He wheeled around and headed in the direction of the elevator. He caught a sound behind him. He turned back. A guard stepped forward; his outline was just visible in the dim light. Something huge moved behind him in the darkness, its body creaking as it rolled across the floor.
The Peacemaker adjusted the light, which reflected off a small spot of raw metal scraped clean of its paint on a set of thick bars that made up a wall. As he peered into the caves beyond, he could see the creatures beginning to wake.
“Set some more free,” the Peacemaker said.
The guard moved to obey.
16
CENTER BRAD WILLIAMS made his way back to the cells as instructed by the q-backer, fury boiling off him. Alan Finchley knew it offended Brad to mention his brother Dylan. They had even discussed it when very drunk one night, but Alan had been back to his same old ways once the sun had risen.
After all these years, Dylan, the reckless idiot, still haunted Brad’s days, still causing damage. His brother was dead; it was simple as that, and it infuriated him that everyone had left it behind except for the q-backer.
A cold wind blew in off the bay, swirling around him. In the dying embers of the day, the antagonistic nature of the q-backer burned into him. No one wanted war. No one wanted this life. But it was what they had been dealt, and everyone should have the right to take some warmth from a kernel of happiness. Yet Brad felt that his entire life was bleak, unimportant, and futile.
“Tackle, tell me something,” he shouted, as he opened the door to the detention center.
Tackle Jeffry Rice scrambled to his feet as Brad entered the room. Sebastian and Memphis remained sitting, Sebastian with a mug halfway to his mouth.
Brad took in the scene. “First, tell me why they’re unchained.”
“I had to release the manacles so they could perform the tests, sir,” Jeffry said.
“I assume you’ve finished the tests, so you can secure them again.”
Jeffry quickly snapped the handcuffs back onto Sebastian and Memphis’s wrists, and stood to attention behind them.
“Brief me, Tackle.”
“Well, we’ve been talking about things.”
“This isn’t a Sunday afternoon picnic with your grandmother; tell me about the test results.”
Jeffry looked hesitant. “The problem with the tests is that they’re rarely used because our captives always kill themselves before we can apply them. So the results are pretty non-conclusive. They seem harmless, though. The boy’s got a weird accent, and when he starts talking, he doesn’t stop.”
Brad counted to ten under his breath. While rubbing his hand across his forehead he counted another ten. Alan’s comments hammered down in his memory.
“They’re still captives, Tackle. Treat them as such,” he snapped. He signaled for the two young people to stand. “You two, come with me.”
When Sebastian and Memphis approached, he said, “You need to be prepared for the q-backer. Alan Finchley’s a good man, but he’s seen a lot of war. Probably too much, but the oversight committee won’t let him retire because he’s undefeated in battle.”
Jeffry stepped close to Memphis. “And a word to the wise, Miss. The q-backer’s a sharp man. He’ll see through you.”
In reply, Memphis gave him a glance that was somewhere between shock and fury.
Brad indicated for Jeffry to accompany them, and they marched Sebastian and Memphis at gunpoint across the fields, through the biting wind, toward headquarters. The smell of the sea hung in the cold air. Sebastian breathed in deeply, feeling the clean air fill his lungs. He felt refreshed. Memphis coughed.
Within minutes, they stood before the old q-backer. Alan’s dark skin had aged well, and his eyes still sparkled.
“Center,” Alan said to Brad, “they are children.”
“Hey,” Memphis and Sebastian chorused.
“I’m categorized as an adult by Californian law,” Memphis stated emphatically.
“Yeah,” Sebastian added, although not as emphatically, because he didn’t really think the law applied to him. “And I’ll be seventeen real soon.”
“Seventeen?” Alan and Memphis chorused. They both stared at him.
“Why are you looking at me?”
“But you’re …” Memphis started. She looked up at him. “There’s no way you’re seventeen.”
“Good Lord, son,” Alan said, “you have to be the one of the most impressive figures of manhood that I’ve seen.”
Memphis snickered.
Alan looked at her, then back at Sebastian. “Stand up straight,” he commanded.
Sebastian stood tall, stretching upward. The two stood eye-to-eye-ish.
“What can you press?” Alan said. “It’s got to be two-twenty pounds.”
“Press?” Sebastian thought back. The only image he had of anybody pressing anything was Melanie and her butterflies. At least she called it pressing. She ran around with a book and slammed it down on anything that fluttered by. If it weren’t totally dead, she’d stab a pin through it and nail it to the wall.
Then he thought of Nikola Tasman. Nikola was always saying that the worth of a man showed in his grooming, and that he should always press his clothes.
Sebastian shrugged. “I don’t really put numbers on it.”
“I knew it,” Alan said. “You look like a young man who doesn’t get caught up in all that nonsense. You remind me of myself.”
“I only needed to be strong enough to lift whatever was on the farm.”
“You’re a farm boy?” Alan said in a soft voice.
“Yes. Until the cyborgs came and destroyed it and killed everyone.” Sebastian explained to Alan what cyborgs were, but Alan seemed to have heard only one word.
“Farming.” Alan’s eyes misted over and he stared down at the floor. He staggered backward, reeling internally from a distant memory. “Take them away. Make sure they’re fed, and given fresh water and suitable guest quarters. We’ll reconvene later.”
He waved everyone away and turned to the window. He stared into the dark eastern sky, toward home. He rested a hand against the wall to steady himself.
Brad hovered by the door for a moment, watching Alan intently. He gave Sebastian a dark look, then nodded to Jeffry.
The tackle led Memphis and Sebastian across the fields to a block of apartments on the west bank of the island. The building was in the shape of a star with numerous wings stretching out in every
direction.
“Did we say something wrong?” Sebastian asked Jeffry.
“No. Otherwise you’d be heading to the cells.”
Jeffry steered them up a stairway to a series of apartments that looked out over the grass and the water.
“But you’re a guard,” Memphis said.
“Now I’m an escort.” Jeffry gave her a smile, then turned to Sebastian. “I haven’t seen the q-backer like that before. You seem to have affected him deeply. Do you normally do that?”
“Er, no,” Sebastian said. “I usually make people angry. It’s a gift.”
“This is your room.” Jeffry unlocked the door and swung it open. Sebastian and Memphis looked in.
“Only one room?” Sebastian said.
“You can share a room like all soldiers,” Jeffry said.
“Fine,” Memphis said. She pushed through the doorway and lay down on one of the beds. It was solid and comfortable. For her, it set a new record in comfort. She rolled over and kicked her legs in the air.
Sebastian made his way in more cautiously. He’d only ever shared a room before with the other guys back at the tesla school at the Steam Academy.
Jeffry indicated another, smaller room off the first. Sebastian looked in. It was a pristine bathroom, white and brilliant.
The tackle looked at his watch. “Mess will be closed in about fifteen minutes. I’ll be back in an hour to take you back to the q-backer.” He closed the door. There was no click of the lock.
Memphis got up and tried the door handle. It opened easily. She tried it a few more times, and each time it closed and opened easily. She smiled.
Sebastian gave her a concerned look. “Don’t break it,” he cautioned.
There was a knock on the door, which made her jump back in surprise. “Yes?” she called.
“Dropping off your possessions,” came a muffled voice.
She opened the door and another soldier stood there with their packs. He dropped them inside the room and left.
“They gave you back your sword,” Memphis said in surprise.
